The Honor of the Name eBook

“It is not the Marquis de Courtornieu whom I
fear,” he murmured, “but his daughter—­my
wife.”

CHAPTER XLI

One must have lived in the country to know with what
inconceivable rapidity news flies from mouth to mouth.

Strange as it may seem, the news of the scene at the
chateau reached Father Poignot’s farm-house
that same evening.

It had not been three hours since Maurice, Jean Lacheneur
and Bavois left the house, promising to re-cross the
frontier that same night.

Abbe Midon had decided to say nothing to M. d’Escorval
of his son’s return, and to conceal Marie-Anne’s
presence in the house. The baron’s condition
was so critical that the merest trifle might turn the
scale.

About ten o’clock the baron fell asleep, and
the abbe and Mme. d’Escorval went downstairs
to talk with Marie-Anne. As they were sitting
there Poignot’s eldest son entered in a state
of great excitement.

After supper he had gone with some of his acquaintances
to admire the splendors of the fete, and he now came
rushing back to relate the strange events of the evening
to his father’s guests.

“It is inconceivable!” murmured the abbe.

He knew but too well, and the others comprehended
it likewise, that these strange events rendered their
situation more perilous than ever.

“I cannot understand how Maurice could commit
such an act of folly after what I had just said to
him. The baron’s most cruel enemy has been
his own son. We must wait until to-morrow before
deciding upon anything.”

The next day they heard of the meeting at the Reche.
A peasant who, from a distance, had witnessed the
preliminaries of the duel which had not been fought,
was able to give them the fullest details.

He had seen the two adversaries take their places,
then the soldiers run to the spot, and afterward pursue
Maurice, Jean and Bavois.

But he was sure that the soldiers had not overtaken
them. He had met them five hours afterward, harassed
and furious; and the officer in charge of the expedition
declared their failure to be the fault of the Marquis
de Sairmeuse, who had detained them.

That same day Father Poignot informed the abbe that
the Duc de Sairmeuse and the Marquis de Courtornieu
were at variance. It was the talk of the country.
The marquis had returned to his chateau, accompanied
by his daughter, and the duke had gone to Montaignac.

The abbe’s anxiety on receiving this intelligence
was so poignant that he could not conceal it from
Baron d’Escorval.

“You have heard something, my friend,”
said the baron.

“Nothing, absolutely nothing.”

“Some new danger threatens us.”

“None, I swear it.”

The priest’s protestations did not convince
the baron.

“Oh, do not deny it!” he exclaimed.
“Night before last, when you entered my room
after I awoke, you were paler than death, and my wife
had certainly been crying. What does all this
mean?”